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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296269">meadowsweet tea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/louiszv/pseuds/louiszv'>louiszv</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:47:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/louiszv/pseuds/louiszv</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Los Angeles is lonely.</p><p>Even surrounded by people, all it is is half-smiles and popping pills to soothe an invisible twinge of something missing in your chest. Don’t let the bright city lights and the diamond-crusted tights distract you. No matter how many people beg and plead and try to buy their way through the door, those at the top are those who reap the rewards. You don’t get in unless they want you to. No one’s going to have your back. Ever.</p><p>Los Angeles, Hollywood, all of it, leaves a terrible taste at the back of the throat. It’s terribly, achingly lonely. It’s a truth that Louis has known for years now.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Louis Tomlinson/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/outropeace/gifts">outropeace</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>a very tiny littel ficlet for valentine's day for the blouie secret admirer exchange :&gt;</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Los Angeles is lonely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even surrounded by people, all it is is half-smiles and popping pills to soothe an invisible twinge of something missing in your chest. Don’t let the bright city lights and the diamond-crusted tights distract you. No matter how many people beg and plead and try to buy their way through the door, those at the top are those who reap the rewards. You don’t get in unless they want you to. No one’s going to have your back. Ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Los Angeles, Hollywood, all of it, leaves a horrible taste at the back of the throat. It’s terribly, achingly lonely. It’s a truth that Louis has known for years now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the time he’d first stepped off the plane, skin already burning under the hot California sun, and his new manager had told him to change into the clothes he’d left in the backseat before his meeting. Nothing was real, Louis was quick to learn as he slipped out of his sweatpants and into a tight pair of ripped jeans. And he wouldn’t be enough on his own, he learned in that very meeting, face to face with a group of condescending, silicone-filled adults for the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was quick to be pushed onto different stages, each time revealing more of himself to an audience of strangers than the last. Words coated in euphemisms were forced into his mouth, always sang with a coy curl to his lips. It’s all an act, Louis knows that well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even now, many years and an album later, Louis can still feel the mask slip sometimes. It’s become a permanent part of him, that flirty and tantalizing persona, but there’s still that part inside that tries to push and tear at it, a small voice that screams and cries whenever Louis perches himself on another exec’s lap, carefully holding a lighter to his cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The large hand on his hip slowly inches ever closer to his ass as he does. Louis tries to fidget away from the hold, curling an arm around a thick neck and tucking his face into a shoulder. His head is spinning from the cocktail of drugs and alcohol handed to him earlier. The man holding onto him whispers something into his ear. Louis can’t even make out the words, the sound blurring and slurring together in a mix of vowels and syllables. He just nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tightening his grip around Louis’ waist, the exec stands. His tenacious hold pulls Louis up with him and he stumbles a few steps from the sudden change in posture. “Where are we going?” Louis wants to ask. All that comes out of his mouth is a low mumble. The man ignores him, instead tugging him in closer and pulling him along. The low bass of the music in the club warbles in the air, pounding against Louis’ ears and worming its way into his brain. He feels sick. He feels so good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re almost at the entrance when they stop suddenly. Louis leans his weight against his companion, body too heavy to hold himself up. The large hand on his ass, rubbing and groping, lights something up in the back of his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A large, calloused hand cups his cheek and tilts his head up to the sky. Louis giggles, eyes glazed over and misty, staring at nothing in particular. The hold is cold and calloused against his cheek, almost metallic and stinging against his heated skin. A persistent snapping sound knocks against his left ear. Louis leans away from it, dislodging himself from the tight grip on his jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not taking him,” a deep voice says. It’s slow and syrupy. Like honey, or chocolate sauce. Louis wants to bathe in it. “He’s in no state of mind to consent to anything right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who the fuck are you to say that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a quick exchange beside him, but the world is slipping away slightly from Louis’ grasp as his head spins upwards again. The voices rise, the tension quickly mounting. The man beside him shouts suddenly, pulling Louis even closer if that were possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louis winces and scowls at the sudden anger. His eyes slip shut, shielding him from the feeling. The hand on his ass disappears for a moment before returning in a loud, sharp slap against his face. Louis gasps and almost collapses forward at the sudden assault. “He’s mine to do with as I please,” Louis’ fall back to earth grounds him enough that the conversation begins to fill his head once more. “If you want one so bad, there are a few more desperate sluts in the back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold fingers wrap around his wrist and tug, pulling him free from the oppressive hold on his hip. His eyes snap open in surprise. “Sir,” that deep voice says with barely restrained anger, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Alone. Or I’m going to call for the manager.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breath stuttering in his chest, Louis doesn’t even watch as the exec storms out with a threat (read: promise) to never return. The man who now holds him is tall. Very tall. Holy fuck, Louis realizes, it’s Christopher Hardwood. Towering over Louis’ slight form, the famed actor raises a hand to press his fingertips against Louis’ cheekbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s going to bruise,” he mutters to himself. Plump lips bitten in thought, Christopher tilts his head and looks Louis up and down. Pulling back, He takes off his ostentatious blazer and drapes it over Louis’ shoulders. “Would you mind coming with me? I’d like to treat this before it gets worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louis’ mouth salivates at the thought of getting Christopher Hardwood alone, so he nods with a small smile and follows along obediently. His head is still swimming through the various glasses of alcohol pushed into his hand over the night, but the drugs are beginning to wear off and he can feel his feet padding across the soft carpet. They walk into a bathroom towards the back of the club and Louis is instructed to sit on the wide counter. Pushing himself up onto the hard surface and avoiding suspicious wet spots, Louis rocks his head back and forth as he kicks his feet. Christopher huffs out a breath before holding up a finger and backing out of the room once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Humming some of his latest single, Louis waits patiently for him to come back. He lets his eyes slip shut as he reaches the chorus, tapping his fingers against the marbled granite along with the upbeat drums playing in his head. The soft click of the door interrupts him and Louis stops. He leaves his eyes closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t stop on my account,” His saviour is back. Louis feels a drunken smile curl the corners of his lips. Moving into the bathroom, Christopher sets a first aid kit on the counter next to Louis’ hips. He opens up the case and pulls out a few things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to say something witty and sexy, but all that comes out of his mouth is a pitiful warble and a hiccup. He giggles again, leaning forward to hide his face. The world spins around him once again, and Louis tips too far forward. His arms flail a bit as he starts to fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thick arm reaches around his chest, holding him in place. “Careful,” Christopher winks at him, pushing him back into a more stable seated position. Louis curls his hand around his wrist and bites his lip, nodding shyly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls back only to step in front of Louis and place both hands on his thighs. The heat of his palms burns through the thin pleather of Louis’ pants. With a smirk and another wink, he spreads Louis’ legs and steps between them. Then he pulls his head back and presses a cold compress to his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louis hisses at the stinging cold against his face, trying to pull back. The hand on the back of his neck is firm, though, and Louis endures it for a minute before it’s pulled back. Christopher clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “He shouldn’t have done that, that bastard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s closer to a growl than anything and Louis feels a shiver dance its way down his spine. He shakes his head and shrugs, not quite trusting his voice yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christopher just shakes his head at him, glancing down at his cheek. He steps back and rifles through the kit again. “I’m Chris, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know, Louis wants to blurt out, I’ve fingered myself while staring at your Calvin Klein ad over ten times. Dancing the tips of his fingers across the cold counter surface, he curls them around Christopher’s wrist, pausing his search for whatever it is that’s hiding in the depths of the first aid kit. “Louis,” comes out rough and cracked. The second syllable dips unnaturally on his drunk tongue. “I’m Louis.” Better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomlinson, yeah? I saw one of your shows last summer.” Christopher smiles gently. He grabs a Band-Aid and unwraps it in his large hands, the small adhesive looking tiny in his grip. Louis flushes at being recognized. “It was a great show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” his breath stutters as Christopher presses the bandage to his cheek, pressing softly into the forming bruise. His lips part at the gentle, lingering touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christopher nods and takes a few steps back, putting distance between them. “Do you need me to call you a cab?” He’s already reaching into his pants for his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louis shakes his head and pushes himself off of the counter, stumbling as he lands and reaching back for balance. He waits for the fuzziness to disappear before standing straighter. He hums and shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Christopher reaches out and takes a step closer. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not done,” Louis rasps. “Need…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He coughs. The sound is slightly wet and wracks his chest. He jumps when Christopher wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into his chest, rocking them gently back and forth as Louis tries to calm his coughs. “I’m sorry, Louis,” Christophersays softly, “I can’t let you go back out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louis looks up at him, feeling somewhat betrayed. He anxiously pulls his lips between his teeth. “I need to,” he tries again, more carefully this time. “For my next show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christopher looks confused for a minute before his hold on Louis’ shoulder tightens up. “I’m definitely not letting you go out there, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louis sinks into his hold with a pout. He’s both bothered and relieved at Chris’s stubborn interference. He knows he needs to get the funds and backing for his next show, but God. He just wants to rest. To go one night without having to put on a character. One night without the extravagance and showmanship. He lets his head fall against Chris’s shoulder with a long sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to go back,” slips out softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christopher rakes his fingers through Louis’ hair, gently pulling his fringe back away from his face. “You don’t have to,” he tells him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louis shuts his eyes and tries not to tremble. He inhales shakily, the air burning his nostrils and searing his lungs on the way out. “It’s nice that you think that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” Christopherstarts, “Why don’t you come back to mine? I have an apartment a few blocks from here. You can stay there for tonight if you really don’t want to go back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” He asks, glancing up at him. Christophernods and stands up, pulling Louis to his feet alongside him. He gestures toward the door. “You go outside and I’ll be right there with our coats. We can even watch a movie or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louis can feel his eyes sparkle. He nods and shivers a bit when Christopher presses his hand to the small of Louis’ back, gently guiding him out of the bathroom and back through the club. He brings him to some kind of expensive vintage car, opening Louis’ door for him and waiting for him to settle in the passenger seat before shutting it and making his way around to the driver’s seat. With a small smirk, he turns the key. The curl in his lip grows at the answering purr of the car’s engine as he revs it, pulling out of the parking lot and into the city streets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bright Hollywood lights blend and melt together as they fly through the different neighbourhoods and busy streets. There’s music playing, Louis thinks, but the roar of the engine as Christopher speeds along the highway drowns it out. At one point Christopher’s hand lands on his thigh, long ring-clad fingers gently drumming along to some unknown beat. Louis bites his lip and resists the urge to reach his own hand out to curl around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the car stops and Christopher climbs out. Louis tries to ground himself, jumping a bit when his door opens and Christopher offers him a hand. Together they silently climb the stairs of the building. Louis follows along blindly, eyes longingly staring at the broad expanse of Christopher’s shoulders and the way his biceps tense and shift every time he grabs onto the railing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They reach a large door on the fourth floor with an intricate, antique knob and lock. Using one of those old-fashioned brass keys, Christopher turns and pushes the door open into an extravagant foyer, flicking the light switch next to the door and bathing the apartment in light. The walls and floors are dark with contrasting furniture. There are large, open archways and opulent paintings and sculptures decorating the walls and corners. A glance out the window leaves Louis breathless, the dark, infinite expanse of the pacific ocean greeting him with soft crashing waves. The moon is bright and</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so different from his own dingy fourth floor apartment, infested with bugs and drifters. Louis still struggles to pay his overpriced rent every month.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing the door behind them, he lets out a surprised breath and slumps back against the wall, sliding down until his ass meets the floor. He feels lightheaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving Christopher in the entrance with their coats and shoes and crawling on all fours, Louis slowly makes his way to the large sectional sofa he saw in the middle of the living room. When he bumps into the soft blanket thrown over the couch’s arm, Louis just curls up on the floor beside it. He reaches up and tugs the blanket from its position, sighing when it falls perfectly over his hunched form. He thinks he hears Christopher call out for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, his breathing slows and Louis feels himself drifting off. The sounds of clattering dishes and someone else’s soft breathing pull him into a deep sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chris blinks and winces as he wakes. Propping himself up on an elbow, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and stretches his neck from side to side. The cracks and aches of his bones reminds him of his quickly approaching 35th birthday and he holds back another grimace. </p><p>The smell of bacon and eggs begins to waft out from under the door. </p><p>Then the acrid scent of something burning joins in and Chris jumps out of bed. He rushes from his bedroom to the kitchen, stopping in his tracks when he sees Louis jumping up and down with a hand towel, trying to air out the smoky air. He’s got one of Chris’s aprons tied around his waist and his hair is tied up in a little bun at the top of his head, loose tendrils falling and framing his face. </p><p>Quickly moving, Chris carefully pushes Louis behind him and turns down the knobs on his stove, pushing the pots and pans away from the heat. He leans over and turns on the overhead fan, the loud<em> whooshing </em>sound drowning out Louis’ panicked breaths. Letting out a long exhale, he turns on his heels to face a guilty-looking Louis. </p><p>“Well, that sure woke me up.” He asks, hands on his hips. He can feel his stern look start to slip into an endeared grin. “What’s this all about?” </p><p>Louis bites his lip and twists his toe into the floor. “Wanted to do something nice,” he says, glancing up through his lashes innocently, “As a thank you for last night.” </p><p>Chris feels his heart clench and he wraps an arm around Louis without thinking, pulling him into a hug. “You didn’t have to do that, darling,” his southern accent bleeds through the words, coating the syllables in a honeyed drawl. </p><p>Louis squirms in his hold, pushing his face into Chris’ side. It hits Chris then, how natural it feels. The both of them in his kitchen with Louis caught and happy in his arms as he stares at the burnt remains of their breakfast. That lonely feeling in his chest, the small hole that had been steadily growing for years now, lessens for the first time in forever. </p><p>“I’m guessing cooking isn’t your specialty?” Chris gestures toward the stove. Louis pinches him in the side, causing him to flinch and retaliate with a wiggle of his fingers along Louis’ hip. He pushes away with an adorable giggle. </p><p>“I’ll have you know that I’m a fantastic cook,” Louis says with his chin held high, “I’m just not used to your stove. It got too hot too quickly.” </p><p>Chris nods. “I’m sure.” </p><p>Pulling Louis back into his side, he pulls him along as he maneuvers his way around the large kitchen, pulling out ingredients and placing them on the counter. Louis comes easily, wrapping his arms around Chris’s waist and pouting playfully as he begins to make them breakfast from scratch. Fluffy pancakes are quickly whipped up and bacon is pulled from the oven, thankfully in one piece and perfectly smoked. They set up the table and pile their plates high with food before sitting down at the large island. </p><p>Chris raises his glass of orange juice with a smile. “To a fantastic breakfast.” </p><p>Blushing, Louis ducks his head but clinks their glasses together regardless. Cutting into his pancakes, Chris tilts his head as he chews. “You know, a thank you note and your phone number would have sufficed. You didn’t have to go through the trouble of making breakfast.” </p><p>Louis chews at his lip again. “Told you,” he mumbles, tapping his nail against the side of his glass. Chris watches the blush travel down the length of his slim neck. “just wanted to do something nice. Besides, you did most of the work.” </p><p>Picking up the plates and throwing them in the dishwasher, Chris shrugs and smiles. “I honestly can’t even remember the last time I had a homemade meal. Your effort was more than enough, darling.” </p><p>He turns and leads Louis with a hand at the base of his spine into the living room. “Now,” he says, “I don’t know about you, but I need to relax.” </p><p>Louis bites his lip around a grin and nods, happily settling in beside him on the large sofa. “I always watch Criminal Minds when I need to wind down. It’s been a favourite series of mine for as long as I can remember.” </p><p>Chris can feel his eyebrows rise, but he queues up the show’s first season regardless. “I never would have guessed.” </p><p>They spend the rest of the day watching television and eating snacks, trading bad jokes and stories about different celebrities they know and embarrassing auditions. Louis latches onto every word that comes out of his mouth, nodding along, enraptured as he recounts his most memorable moment - his first award show - and stumbling along his own stories about his numerous siblings. Chris smiles as he watches the sun rise and set against Louis’ golden skin. </p><p>By the end of the day, Chris doesn’t even remember how it feels to be alone. He’s fighting the urge to hold Louis hostage in his home, wrap him up in his arms and feed him decadent, homemade meals every day. But as all good things do, the day eventually comes to a close. Louis’ phone buzzes on the floor next to the sofa at around 9 o’clock, the melodious <em> ding </em>of his ringtone echoing through the room. The smile that had lit up his face the entire day drops as he reads the text and Chris feels his stomach clench. </p><p>He forces a smile when Louis straightens up and stands. “Gotta go?” He asks. </p><p>Louis nods without a word, looking around for his jacket. He throws it over his elbow when Chris hands it to him, giving him a gentle<em> thank you </em>. They walk to the door oh so slowly, savouring every moment, squeezing and squeezing every drop that they have together. Standing at the door, Louis’ chin is dropped to his chest and his hands are stuffed into his pockets. </p><p>Chris reaches down and wraps his fingers around Louis’ wrist, raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss against the back of his hand. “I really enjoyed hanging out with you today.” </p><p>A real smile breaks across Louis’ face and he giggles, “Me too.” </p><p>“I’ll make sure to call you tomorrow morning, alright?” Chris assures him. He gets a small nod in return.</p><p>Rising up onto the tips of his toes, Louis steadies himself with a hand against Chris’s shoulder and raises his lips to press a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek. He lingers for a few seconds before falling back to the flats of his feet. “Happy Valentine’s day, Christopher,” he’s blushing fiercely, one hand already reaching back for the doorknob. </p><p>And. It’s almost too much for Chris. He moves without thinking.</p><p>"Can I kiss you?" It comes out husky and deep in his throat. He's breathless when Louis' eyes flutter shut and he nods. One arm wraps around Louis’ waist as the other comes up to cup his face and pull him into a real kiss, pressing their lips together. He breathes in Louis’ sweet vanilla scent, letting his eyes fall shut in bliss before pulling back. Louis blinks, dazed. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips and Chris feels himself mimic the motion, tasting the minty taste of his own toothpaste on his lips. </p><p>He leans forward and knocks their foreheads together gently. “Happy Valentine’s day, Darling.” </p><p>He reluctantly lets Louis go then with another reminder that he’ll call tomorrow. Shutting the door with a final <em> click </em>, Chris presses his head against the wood and breathes. In. Out. And in again. The tips of his fingers tingle with the memory of Louis’ skin. </p><p>Los Angeles is lonely. Hollywood is even worse. </p><p>It’s always been lonely. A constant fight to prove yourself against stereotypes and competitors more talented than you. It’s a showman’s world - a place meant for those who find no peace within the small town pleasures. It’s a machine that takes advantage of young dreams and younger hearts. He’s familiar with the moniker, <em> The City of Dreams </em>. </p><p>Chris is intimately familiar with the loneliness that such a world can bring. He’s known for years and seen it wreck lives and dreams without so much as a flinch. </p><p>It’s a lonely city for lonely people. But. </p><p>But as he crosses the floor of his empty apartment and watches Louis’ tiny form scurry and dance across the vast beach from the window, there’s a small part of him that thinks, “It might not be so lonely after all.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tumblr post for the fic <a href="https://ashleyjohnsonfanaccount.tumblr.com/post/643107197348397057/meadowsweet-tea-by-louizsv"> here</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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